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Inspired by Bebe Moore Campbell's Sweet Summer
When she left, all women went out of my life.
Now, there are only surfaces that meet at a far point. I see no height, no measures to move since the day she had gone. I only have the occasional wine as reminder of every red dress I was supposed to wear--each indecency we wanted to share.
But there are also days of joy when I forget she exists, or existed. On those vague hours I live with five missing years in my life. It is less whole, you can only imagine, but at least it's also less tepid to drink from. My words are suddenly all mine and I feel free; free from a failed life and a rotting dream.
Until she resurfaces in the form of gods and muses. Sometimes I hear her in a familiar laughter or taste. An evening a-buzz with the enchanting ecosystem of cicadas and I'd be in bed, five feet away a small cable TV. A silent but aggravated release of air from a stranger's lips and I'd be taken back to a game of green mangoes and cards. These are the ghosts she left for me to fear; while, all the women are shadow, physically impossible to hold, always leeching off another's light.
- Kumiko Mae, a Beauty Blogger from the Philippines
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